


Steady

by gwennolmarie



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Adrenaline, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Grinding, M/M, Pre-Canon, SOMFT, T, Top John, Trapped In A Closet, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, if i continue this it'll be way more apparent, just a fuckton of unresolved tension lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 16:03:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19023274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennolmarie/pseuds/gwennolmarie
Summary: Simply being so close to John, together and breathing in tandem has him feeling steady.





	Steady

There are too many of them.

Two against maybe twenty.

Arthur heads down the hallway with John covering his back.

The younger glances towards the older every few seconds.

Arthur carefully, quietly opens each door.

Peers inside.

Closes it when not satisfied.

All the rooms in this godforsaken estate are too spacious.

Furnished just enough to look lived in, but not enough to give good hiding spaces.

“Arthur,” John hisses worriedly.

As heavier, more numerous footsteps head their way.

“Shh,” Arthur hisses back.

It’s the last door on the right.

A small, empty linen closet.

Just enough space for the two of them, and no light within.

Which means no shadows under the door.

Arthur reaches back for John, then backs himself into the closet with John at his front.

John reaches to close the door and they settle into the small space just as men come around the corner.

The two outlaws try and stay still and silent, as the rest of the rooms in the hallway are checked.

Arthur feels John tense against his front when heavy boots come to a stop in front of the closet.

Arthur wraps an arm around the front of the younger’s chest and levels his pistol at the door with his other hand.

Estimating head height.

“Where’d those rat bastards go?” One of the men yells.

Too close for comfort.

“Damn, might’ve gone over the balcony,” A further voice replies.

Some of the men break off, footsteps heading towards the further voice.

Some of them linger.

“We’ll have ‘em hanged for this! Stealin’ the family jewels right out the safe,” One of the men mutters.

Arthur feels John’s body go tighter.

Can practically feel the terror radiating off the younger man.

Arthur leans his head in to speak into John’s ear.

“We’ll be fine,” He whispers, barely more than breathing.

John presses further back, trying to seek comfort in the older man’s warmth.

The eternal, protective presence Arthur exudes.

He tries to relax but Arthur is tense.

“Arthur?” John whispers.

Arthur has his chin rested on John’s shoulder.

His gun unwavering.

“We’re fine,” Arthur insists.

John swallows hard and presses as close as he can, wrapping his fingers around the wrist of Arthur's arm across his collarbones.

Arthur pats the younger's shoulder before squeezing reassuringly.

There’s ambient chatter and muttering curses throughout this floor of the wing they’re in.

John tenses against him with every pair of footsteps that approach and pass by.

“They dropped a bag in here!” A voice calls down the hall.

John glances down sharply to see one of his sacks missing.

“Shit,” He murmurs and Arthur squeezes him in warning.

John tilts his head back against the older man’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

He _knows_ he’s safe, with Arthur he’s _always_ safe.

He’s honestly more worried about the older man getting hurt than himself.

“D’you remember the time?” Arthur whispers.

John turns his face into Arthur’s neck and shakes his head.

The older man shifts against the wall, elbow knocking against the shelving on one side.

John’s fingers around his wrist tighten.

“We might have to wait ‘til dark,” Arthur murmurs.

“An hour or so,” John says.

Arthur sighs and shifts uncomfortably.

John knows the space between the shelves is barely wide enough for his own shoulders, Arthur’s pressed flush into the wooden edges.

John gets Arthur to loosen his hold and leans down to push the bags onto the lower shelf, as quiet as possible, slow and steady to not let the metal of jewelry clink around.

He feels the older man shift behind him and carefully stands back up.

“Put your arms ‘round me,” John mutters.

“What?” Arthur hisses.

“So you’re not knockin’ against everythin’,” John explains and reaches back for one of Arthur’s hands, tugging it forward.

Arthur grumbles and holsters his gun before crossing his hands in front of John’s belly button.

John sighs quietly and leans back against him.

Most of the voices have moved further from them, to the floor above, and the one below, but every few minutes a set or two of footsteps patrols the hall they’re in.

Arthur’s fingers twitch every time, wanting to draw his revolver.

The older man stills when John twists and the younger’s ass is pressed back against him.

He curls his fists in the front of John’s shirt at the warmth in his gut.

John tilts his head back to look up at Arthur, studying the older man’s face.

“S’okay,” John mutters before tucking his forehead into Arthur’s neck, perfectly fit between the older man’s collarbone and jaw.

Feeling the heat of Arthur’s skin against his own.

“I don’t...” Arthur swallows and John closes his eyes.

John covers Arthur’s clenched fists with his own hands and worms his fingers between the older man’s until Arthur’s grip loosens and John can thread their fingers together.

“We’re fine,” John murmurs, echoing Arthur’s earlier reassurance.

Arthur squeezes their hands and focuses on listening to the sounds of the guard, somehow surrounding them and yet not an immediate threat.

Ultimately they’re just stuck.

There’s no sensible pattern to the patrol, and they won’t be able to slip away unnoticed without the cover of darkness.

John fidgets with Arthur’s fingers, impatient as ever.

His nose twitches under his bandana but he’s not certain if they should remove them, just in case.

He shifts his weight to his other leg as the one under him starts to tingle and Arthur takes a deep breath in.

John leans to the side to look up at the older man who has his eyes shut tightly.

The younger man hesitates, and then moves his hips so Arthur’s cloth-confined cock is pressed hard against the seam over his ass.

“John,” Arthur mutters, “Hold on.”

“What?”

“Just…” Arthur breathes shakily, “Hold on.”

The older man squeezes their hands then lowers his head to rest his forehead on John’s shoulder.

“It’s fine, Art,” John whispers, “Promise. If it’s adrenaline… Or whatever.”

Arthur grumbles quietly and moves their connected hands to either of John’s hips.

He gently rocks against John’s ass.

John's fingers tighten around his hands and the younger pushes back against him in turn.

“John,” Arthur murmurs, needful but hesitant.

John hums softly, curiously, and leans his weight back into Arthur.

Arthur burrows his face into John’s neck and holds the younger in place.

It’s… Excruciating, but at the same time…

There’s been something untouchable between them, lately.

The same solace they find in each other but touches lingering longer, words softer, tones warmer.

Even when bickering, reconciliation coming quicker and easier than ever.

And though Arthur never showed his anxiety outwardly it festered on jobs gone wrong.

Simply being so close to John, together and breathing in tandem has him feeling steadier.

John tilts his head to rest his cheek on Arthur’s temple, oddly content.

Arthur moves one set of their hands to John’s low stomach, presses in.

John makes a small sound of questioning.

“How much time you think’s passed?” Arthur whispers.

“Dunno.”

“Haven’t heard anyone pass in a while.”

John makes a sound of agreement.

Arthur takes a deep breath in, squeezes John and then pushes the younger away lightly.

“Grab the bags, then crack open the door.”

John reluctantly pulls away, carefully gathering up the sacks then opening the door slowly and peaking out.

It’s dim, in the hall, but brighter than the inside of the closet and his eyes take a moment to adjust.

He scans around and listens but there’s nothing.

He reaches back with his free hand and rests the backs of his fingers on Arthur’s chest, their silent way of telling the other to wait.

But nothing changes.

So John glances back at Arthur.

“Which way?”

“Two doors up, the side with the vase.”

John presses his fingers a little harder into Arthur’s chest then opens the door enough to slip out.

He silently gets into the other room, a simple cigar room, and waits for the older man, who doesn’t take long.

Arthur closes the door and gestures for John to open the balcony doors.

They scale down the side of the building into the hedges, crouching between the outer wall and the thick bushes.

“Go around the south side, get back to the horses, okay?” Arthur asks, his hand settled on John’s shoulder.

“You wanna separate?” John asks hesitantly.

Arthur moves to squeeze the back of his neck and John flushes, ducking his head, when Arthur’s warm gaze meets his.

“Go on,” Arthur says, “I’ll meet you there.”

Then breaks away to move to the north side.

John presses his hand to the back of his neck like he could trap the warmth that lingered from Arthur’s hold on him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i am SORRY i am manic it's just Like That rn


End file.
